


come what may

by WeeBeastie



Series: after all verse [9]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Fluff and Humor, M/M, Sharing Clothes, old pirate husbands, sex because duh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-11-04 17:46:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10995846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeeBeastie/pseuds/WeeBeastie
Summary: seasons may change, winter to spring--but i love you, until the end of time





	come what may

**Author's Note:**

> So this is just a little series of vignettes set over the course of the first few years of my old Silver and old Flint’s relationship after they reunite on Flint’s little farm in Louisiane territory. You can probably read this part without reading any of the others (except you might want to start with the first one for context).
> 
> I drew inspiration from a number of sources for this - the overarching theme of clothes swapping/clothing in general I have Laura to thank for, since she put the idea in my head! I also want to thank Elle for the headcanon I borrowed from her - I’m not going to call it out specifically here because I want it to be something of a surprise, but she knows what I mean. Wink.
> 
> Title and (sappy) lyrics in the description borrowed from “Come What May” from the movie Moulin Rouge because I was high key obsessed with that movie when it came out and I still love the music. Also, as I like to say on Tumblr, every song is Silverflint if you try hard enough. As usual this was just meant to be something cute and light but it ended up a lot more feels-y than I intended. I just have a lot of feelings!

One thing Flint has learned over the course of his long life is that living with someone means, inevitably, your possessions will begin to coalesce, from ‘yours’ and ‘mine’ - clear, separate, distinct - to simply ‘ours.’ It's happened with everyone he's shared his life with for long enough, no matter the person or the circumstance. It happened quickly enough with Thomas once they reunited, and now that Silver’s been living with him for several months, it seems like it's beginning to happen with him, as well. Granted Silver didn't arrive with much, so some of Flint’s things immediately also became Silver’s out of pure necessity.

That doesn't explain why he's wearing Flint’s shirt, though. _Only_ Flint’s shirt, by the looks of it.

He's standing by Flint’s side of the bed, leaning casually on his crutch and holding out a cup of tea. It's morning, and Flint has only just woken up. He's usually coherent fairly quickly after waking, but something about the sight of Silver - hair a mess, cheeky grin on his face - wearing one of Flint’s long white shirts in the bright light of the morning has struck him dumb.

“Thought I'd bring you tea in bed today,” Silver explains as Flint takes the delicate teacup from him. He settles on the edge of the bed near Flint with a noise like ‘oof,’ scuffing his one foot (bare, vulnerable, but bigger than one might expect for such an otherwise diminutive man) against the floor. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You’re wearing my shirt,” Flint finally manages to say. That particular shirt is so old it's threadbare, and if Flint looks closely enough he can see Silver’s impressive collection of tattoos right through the material. The shirt only covers Silver a bit past mid-thigh, almost completely hiding the stump of his left leg and hardly keeping his dignity intact, since he's obviously not wearing anything underneath.

“Mm? Oh, yes. Not a wise idea to make tea completely naked, I've learned through experience. Your shirt was handy and I couldn't be bothered finding my own, so,” Silver says, shrugging.

“You’re not wearing anything else,” Flint says, and he feels a little silly repeatedly stating the obvious, but he can't seem to help himself.

“I tend to sleep without anything on at all, as I'm sure you've noticed,” Silver says, grinning at him wryly. “And it's not like I'm going to waste time putting on underclothes when it's just you and me here. I had important things to do - tea to make, people to rouse.”

“I see,” Flint says. He sets the cup of tea carefully on his nightstand and then reaches out, running one hand slowly up Silver’s right leg from his knee to his thigh, then under the hem of the billowy too-big shirt to feel the crease where thigh meets hip. “So you're telling me you were completely unaware of the effect you'd have on me, wearing my shirt and nothing else. This was all just a matter of convenience for you.”

“Absolutely,” Silver says lowly, leaning in close to Flint. “Completely unaware,” he purrs, then presses his lips to Flint’s, drawing him into an irresistible, slow but passionate kiss.

Flint wraps his arms around Silver and rolls them over easily, ending up on top of him with their bodies pressed warmly together. It took them a few months after reuniting to wind up in bed together for the first time, and their early experiences with each other were - frenzied. Flint feels like now they've established a comfortable routine and he can take his sweet time exploring Silver’s body, like he doesn't need to rush to get him naked and have him. He's not afraid anymore that when he wakes up, Silver will be gone.

Getting a second chance to love someone properly is a familiar feeling for Flint, but it's not one that ever gets old.

He pushes the threadbare shirt off over Silver’s head and casts it aside, giving him lazy, slow-burning kisses. Silver stretches beneath him, back arched and arms over his head, practically glowing in the morning light.

“What, are you tired? Did you mean to go back to sleep?” Flint teases him lightly, rubbing one hand warmly over what remains of Silver’s left leg, mouthing at the soft skin behind his ear.

“Mm, no, this is exactly what I had in mind,” Silver says, giving Flint a sleepy smile and running his fingers through Flint’s hair.

Flint takes his time working Silver open, watching his face and reveling in the pleasure he sees there, and when he's ready Flint eases into him with a sigh of contentment. Silver’s eyelashes flutter as Flint starts moving his hips, the two of them soon falling into an easy, unhurried rhythm.

Flint supports himself on his forearms, burying his face in Silver’s neck and murmuring against his skin as he thrusts into him, gentle and sweet and slow. He feels waves of pleasure rolling over him, warm and inviting, eddying him along. He kisses and bites at Silver’s neck, shifting his weight so he can slip one arm under Silver and cradle him in an embrace while their bodies work together toward a shared goal.

“This is just what I wanted,” Silver breathes, pressing his forehead to Flint’s. Flint can feel Silver’s body, warm silky skin and hard muscles, arching up into his own, the two of them breathing the same air. He can feel the bedsheets tangled around his bare feet and smell sleep lingering on Silver’s sun-kissed skin, and it’s like being in a dream.

“Me, too,” he murmurs in reply, holding Silver tighter to him. He can feel little tremors going through Silver with each slow, steady thrust, irresistible pleasure sparking up his own spine, and he knows they're both getting close. He buries his face in Silver’s neck again and then his orgasm rolls over him in a big, bright rush, making his toes curl and his skin tingle, making him laugh breathlessly with the sheer delight of it.

He feels Silver’s release between their bodies a moment later and feels him exhale, the tension in his body melting away. He makes a happy sighing noise, a sweet little ‘ahh’ that Flint finds utterly endearing. He lies still on top of Silver, his free hand roaming up Silver’s side to touch him here and there, admiring the way his skin looks almost golden in the early daylight. He keeps his other arm tucked under Silver, still holding him close. He can't get enough of him.

“Your tea’s gone cold,” Silver says after a long moment, seeming as reluctant to let Flint go as Flint is to pull away from him. Flint wants to stay like this, warm and sated down to his bones and thoroughly content, for as long as is feasible.

“I don't care,” he tells Silver truthfully, grinning down at him. He pulls free of his body but stays close, resting his head on Silver’s chest and closing his eyes, wanting to savor the afterglow with him. 

They don't get out of bed until past noon, that day.

 

\---

 

Silver isn't entirely sure what's got Flint so riled up, but it must be something serious, the way he's carrying on. Silver heaves himself out of the bathtub and makes his way as quickly as possible from the bathroom to their bedroom, following the sound of Flint’s frustrated yelling.

“What? What is it, what's the matter?” he demands, standing naked and dripping in the doorway. He's left a trail of water between the bathroom and the bedroom but he doesn't care, he's too concerned about Flint.

Flint, who's lying on his back on the bed with a pair of tight dark trousers pulled partway up his legs, red-faced and cursing. “I’m stuck. I was trying to get dressed, but apparently I've outgrown these thanks to your cooking and now I'm fucking stuck in them. I can't get them up or down, and my foot is caught somehow. This is humiliating.”

Silver takes stock of the situation and immediately realizes something that evidently escaped Flint’s notice. “Those aren't your trousers. They're mine. That's why they don't fit, not because you've gotten fat off my cooking, thank you. Your thighs are the same marvelous size they've always been. That also explains why your foot is stuck, because I alter the left leg of all my trousers so it won't flap around all willy-nilly and irritate me,” he says. “This is not what I meant when I told you to feel free to get into my trousers whenever the mood strikes,” he jokes, earning himself a scowl from Flint. Worth it. He approaches the end of the bed, naked as the day he was born, and forcefully yanks the trousers down until they're free of Flint and his magnificent thighs. “There.”

“Thank you,” Flint says, panting from the struggle. He sits up, eyeing Silver. “Did you come in here straight from the bath?” he asks, and Silver blushes a little as Flint’s curious gaze roams all over his body.

“Yes. You were shouting, so I thought something was wrong,” he explains, feeling awkward now that the crisis has been averted and he's left just standing wet and nude in front of Flint. He normally doesn't spend much time thinking about what his naked body looks like, preferring instead to just go about his business and feel glad that his body still works decently well after all he's put it through. But the way Flint is staring at him, he's suddenly very aware of every part of himself. “What?” he asks, lifting his chin challengingly, just daring Flint to say something.

“You look good like that,” Flint says, standing up and approaching Silver, resting one hand on the center of his chest and tucking Silver’s hair behind his ear with the other. “I was just thinking how beautiful you are with water running all over you, caressing every inch of you.”

“Stop,” Silver mutters, and he can feel himself blushing even more now. “You don't have to say such things, I know what I really look like.”

“I know I don't _have_ to, I mean it,” Flint says, and he's got both hands on Silver’s waist now, pulling him into an embrace. “You’re gorgeous.” He presses Silver’s body to his own and Silver can feel how his damp skin sticks to Flint’s shirt and breeches.

“You’re getting your clothes all wet,” Silver points out softly, leaning in. This close, he can see every one of the scattershot freckles surrounding Flint’s intensely green eyes. Sometimes when Flint’s sleeping he tries to count his freckles, but he always gets lost in just looking at Flint and never gets past about twenty before he loses track.

“No matter, I'm about to take them off anyway,” Flint says, so roguishly it makes Silver snort in amusement.

“You scoundrel,” he says, and tips Flint backward on to their bed.

 

\---

 

This is what we get, Flint thinks, for being so bold as to try and have it off with each other in the middle of the day. Only moments ago he and Silver were in the parlor, half-clothed, lying on the couch in a fevered embrace. Kissing and biting and drowning in one another. Then someone was knocking insistently at the front door and they had to scramble to get dressed and answer said knocking lest they become the subjects of neighborhood gossip for being indisposed at an hour when decent people are supposed to be available.

Standing on the other side of the door is a child, one of Antoinette’s from next door. She's perhaps ten years old, a little dark-haired thing with a determined, steely gaze.

“Good afternoon, sir,” she says to Flint in French, her gaze briefly, curiously flickering over his shoulder to where Silver is standing just behind him. She's speaking overly formally, probably because she sees Flint as a very old man, he thinks to his chagrin. “My mother needs sugar and has sent me to see if you have some. I'm supposed to ask if you have any to spare, and then after, go straight home,” she says, obviously repeating instructions that have been drilled into her verbatim.

“I do, yes. Come in, please. Don't mind my cousin here, he doesn't speak French very well but he's friendly,” Flint says, stepping back to let the girl into the house. “What’s your name?” he asks her as he leads her past a bemused-looking Silver to the kitchen. For some reason he can't figure out, his shirt is suddenly bothering him. It feels too tight under the arms, it's too short in the sleeves, and the hem is also several inches short of where it ought to be, which is strange because he seems to remember that it fit just fine when he put it on in the morning.

“Victoire,” the girl says, squinting up at him. “What's yours? And your cousin’s? My mother said I shouldn't ask you too many questions,” she tells him as he finds the sugar for her and gives it over. “She says it's not nice to do that, and also she says that I talk too much.”

“I'm Jacques, and my cousin is Jean. He talks too much, too,” Flint says. “In English, at least.” He looks over at Silver, who's been silently taking in the proceedings, probably just trying desperately to follow the conversation. Flint can tell Silver heard ‘Jean’ and can guess that they're talking about him.

“He doesn't look like your cousin at all,” Victoire says, clutching the bag of sugar to her chest and staring openly at Silver in the way young children tend to do. Most children have never seen somebody like Silver, so it's understandable. “He looks like an old thief, or a-- corsair or something. And his clothes don't fit,” she says with a sniff, and now that Flint looks again, he can sort of see what she means by that last remark. Silver’s sleeves are covering his hands, his overly long shirt is tucked haphazardly into his trousers, and half his buttons are done up wrong. To Flint he looks like an adorable urchin, though, and he finds he's irritated with Victoire’s attitude toward Silver, who hasn't so much as said a word to her.

“On your way, now, Victoire,” Flint says, shooing her to the front door. “Tell your mother I said hello,” he says, then shuts the door firmly behind her. “Children,” he mutters.

“I heard her say ‘corsair.’ That's one of the few French words I know, since it's just the English word with a silly accent. She was scared of me,” Silver says, folding his arms and leaning on his crutch. The pose only emphasizes how ill-fitting his shirt is, and Flint feels a sudden spark of recognition.

“She just thought you looked scruffy because your shirt doesn't fit. Which makes sense, since it is actually my shirt,” Flint says, moving a few steps closer to Silver and reaching out to fix the mislaid buttons. He has to unbutton them all first, of course, and when he finds that he doesn't much feel like buttoning them back up, well, he just leaves the shirt open so he can admire how it hangs off Silver’s smaller frame.

“Ahh, that does explain it,” Silver says, a little smile on his face as Flint opens his shirt and leaves it that way. “We must've confused them in our haste to get dressed and answer the door. That'll teach us to both wear blue shirts on the same day. I thought yours looked too small on you,” he says. “In fact it looks to me like if you moved just right, you could burst out of it.”

To prove his point and make him laugh, Flint flexes his still-impressive muscles for Silver. The shirt strains, then a button pops off the front and goes flying.

Silver inhales sharply, then bursts out laughing. “You shit, I'm the one who has to fix that later.” He speedily undoes the rest of the buttons before Flint can forcibly remove any more of them, then leans in to whisper in Flint’s ear. “Let’s go upstairs and finish what we started.”

Flint follows him up the stairs to their bedroom, more than happy to go along with that idea.

 

\---

 

Silver comes home from the parish market in the late afternoon, a big grin on his face. He's been out all day and ought to be exhausted, but instead he just feels giddy. He's got a surprise for Flint hidden on his person among all the other mundane things he's bought, and he can't wait to give it to him. “James? I'm home,” he calls out to him.

He finds Flint in the kitchen, sitting at the table with a cup of tea cooling in front of him and a book in hand. He looks like the subject of a particularly enchanting painting in this light, all freckles and long legs, broad shoulders and thick thighs. It's easy for Silver to forget that he personally is somewhat of a small man - he more than makes up for it in personality, he thinks, and small or not he's aware that he's a formidable presence. But sometimes, looking at Flint, he truly realizes just how much bigger the man is than him, and the realization makes his blood run hot and his trousers get a little tighter.

“John?” Flint is saying, looking at him like he knows Silver has gotten lost in staring at him and he finds it amusing.

“Yes. Hello. I've a surprise for you,” Silver says excitedly, and takes it from his pocket where he's been keeping it safe. It's just a small thing, a little rectangle all wrapped up in plain paper, rapidly softening in the heat. He puts it carefully on the table and gestures for Flint to unwrap it.

Flint’s whole face lights up when he sees what's inside, and that reaction alone makes it more than worth the effort and expense for Silver. “How? Where did you get chocolate?” he asks, staring up at Silver in obvious amazement.

“At the market, and I asked a lot of people and paid a lot of money for that tiny little bit, is how,” Silver says, leaning his hip against the table. “You had better eat it before it melts entirely, I had to come home as fast as is possible for me just to get it here mostly in one piece.”

“This is amazing,” Flint breathes. He breaks off a small piece for himself and eats it before Silver can so much as blink. The expression on his face is practically orgasmic. “It’s been so long,” he murmurs, looking at the chocolate with a contented little sigh. “Don’t you want any?” he asks, looking up at Silver.

“I’ve actually never tried it,” Silver says, feeling almost shy. He and Flint had vastly different upbringings, and even though now as an adult he considers himself something of a connoisseur of the world’s foods, somehow he's never been in the right place at the right time to try chocolate before. He's admittedly curious, especially given the rapturous look on Flint’s face.

“What? You have to, then,” Flint insists, as passionate as Silver’s ever seen him. He breaks off another little piece and holds it out to Silver. 

Silver eyes him, then leans down and takes the chocolate from Flint’s fingers with his teeth. It's a mess, already melting on Flint’s hand and leaving sticky smudges on Silver’s face. It feels silky and heavy on his tongue, and the taste is overpoweringly sweet and rich with just a hint of bitterness. It's one of the best things he's ever tasted. “Oh, my,” he breathes, licking his lips to chase the aftertaste of it.

Flint grins at him. “Marvelous, isn't it?” he asks. He stands from his chair and gently feeds Silver another piece, then pulls him close by the front of his shirt and kisses him, getting chocolatey fingerprints on him.

Silver kisses Flint heatedly, licking into his mouth to get another taste of the chocolate. Flint pulls back to pick up the last little piece, putting it in his mouth and kissing Silver again. Silver is so overwhelmed by the taste of the chocolate combined with the feeling of Flint’s fervent kisses, he almost doesn't realize Flint is pulling away from him and going to his knees in front of him until he's already on the floor.

“Please don't feel as though you have to do that,” Silver pants, leaning back against the table and staring down at Flint, hearing his own pulse racing in his ears. He reaches out to stroke Flint’s face tenderly, and how does he have chocolate on his fingers? It's everywhere now, all over both of their faces and hands.

“Shh. I want to, so let me,” Flint says, and Silver leans back against the table, groaning, as Flint opens his trousers and takes him out. Then Flint’s hot, wet mouth is upon him and he cries out, bracing one hand on the table and tangling the other in Flint’s soft hair. 

“Fuck, James,” he grits out, fingernails digging into the table’s surface. “Ah, that's it, oh,” he gasps, feeling Flint’s talented tongue all over his cock. Flint is so _good_ at this, it's obscene. He's got one hand around Silver’s cock now and has pulled back to just suck on the head while he strokes the shaft, something that always drives Silver crazy with need. “More, more, please,” Silver says breathlessly, looking down to meet Flint’s gaze.

He watches as Flint slowly takes him back into his mouth, moaning and throwing his head back when the pleasure gets to be so intense he can't keep his eyes open. He feels Flint’s warm breath on his skin and realizes with a jolt that his cock is all the way down Flint’s throat, Flint’s nose pressed to his lower stomach. He risks a glance down and nearly finishes then and there, besieged by incredible pleasure at the sight and sensation of Flint taking him so deep.

He strokes Flint’s hair back from his face, murmuring encouragement to him as Flint swallows around his cock, alternating sweet praise with bitten-back curses because it all just feels too fucking good. Flint is bobbing his head now, taking Silver deep and then pulling back before diving down again, making him feel like he's slowly losing his mind.

“That’s it, oh darling, oh my love, don't stop,” he gasps, feeling a tingling in the base of his spine that means he's nearing his climax. Flint doesn't stop, of course; if anything it feels like he redoubles his astounding efforts. Silver cries out wordlessly and comes down his throat, one hand gripping the edge of the table while the other tenderly cradles Flint’s head.

“You taste sweet,” Flint says hoarsely when he sits back, looking up Silver’s body and grinning at him. “And you've got chocolate all over you. I think your shirt is a lost cause,” he says, gesturing to the sticky chocolate fingerprints all over it.

“That’s alright,” Silver says as he catches his breath, grinning dazedly down at Flint in return. “It’s your shirt anyway,” he admits, because he can't help freely babbling things he probably shouldn't. His blood hadn't rushed back to his head just yet.

“Is it?” Flint asks, standing and drawing himself up to his full height. “I thought as much. You do like wearing my clothes, don't you?” he purrs, looming over Silver, leaning in to trace the delicate shell of his ear with his tongue.

Silver writhes a little, his cock valiantly trying to harden again even though he just came. “Ah, yeah, yes. I do.”

“Does it get you off, wearing something that belongs to me?” he asks, bracing his hands on the table on either side of Silver and looking down into his eyes. The expression on his face is-- predatory.

“It does,” Silver says, feeling himself swallowing hard. “Because it smells like you, and because it...reminds me how much bigger you are than me.” He meets Flint’s gaze, blushing, and feels lust surging through him, his body apparently set on trying for a second round.

“Why don't I take you to bed and remind you in another way?” Flint growls, then takes the shirt in both hands and deliberately rips the front open with a flourish, rending the sage green material right down the middle. “You’re already practically naked.”

“I would like that very much,” Silver says breathlessly.

 

\---

 

Flint sighs happily and stands back, admiring Silver. They're standing in their bedroom in the late evening, and the air smells fresh and green like it always does after a rainstorm. Flint has lit all the candles in the room, the better to see Silver with.

“I don't know. Isn't it a bit much?” Silver asks, holding his right arm out stiffly from his side and looking down at himself. “I mean, it's beautiful and I love it, but it's...ostentatious is putting it mildly. And is it silk? Honestly. Whatever you paid, it was far too high a price for something I'll only ever wear indoors, for you.”

“Shut up and let me look at you,” Flint says, folding his arms over his chest and drinking in the sight of Silver. He's freshly bathed and wearing only his breeches, plus the birthday present Flint just gave him, of course.

It's a deep blue silk morning gown, long enough that it nearly touches the floor, with an elaborate swirling pattern of dragons and smoke and waves done in various shades of pale pink, gold, and silver, accented by a fetching light green. There's a large dragon’s snarling face in the center of the chest, and another in the same place on the back of the garment. It's nipped in at the waist and flares out from there, and Flint thinks he's never seen something quite so stunning as Silver, tattoos and scars and all, in such an elaborate getup.

“It’s too fine for the likes of me,” Silver says quietly, tugging at one of the turned-up cuffs as though he's feeling awkward under Flint’s scrutiny. “You ought to wear it instead, silk suits you much better.”

“It wouldn't fit me,” Flint reminds him gently, amused as he always is whenever Silver seems to forget they're not actually the same person. “Besides, it suits you very well, that shade of blue is perfect for your eyes and your skin. I don't want to hear any more about how you think it's too fine for you, you look stunning and I bought it because I thought you would. And I was right,” he says, pacing around Silver in a slow circle to get a look at him from every angle. “Do you like it? Be honest.”

“I love it,” Silver murmurs, turning to face Flint, peering around him at the mirror in the corner of the room. “Is that really what I look like?” he asks, slowly approaching the mirror and puffing out his chest, turning this way and that to examine himself. He looks like an exotic bird preening, and it makes Flint grin.

“See? It's perfect for you,” Flint says, standing next to him with one hand resting on the small of his back. He kisses Silver’s hair, then nuzzles his ear. “Happy birthday, darling.”

“Thank you,” Silver says, meeting Flint’s gaze in the mirror and sighing softly. “Sometimes...” he begins, then looks away, like he's having trouble finding the words.

As usual, Flint knows his mind. “I know. Sometimes I'm surprised we've both lived this long, too,” he says. “But I will say, I very much like sixty-year-old John Silver. Age suits you.”

“You said that the first night I got here, almost two years ago now. I still don't agree with you,” he says with a little smile, leaning on Flint. “Although in this outfit I think I'm beginning to see what you mean. One needs must have a few gray hairs and wicked scars to pull this look off.”

“It’s a good thing you aren't planning on wearing it outside the house. I think you would cause quite a stir,” Flint says, turning Silver toward him and taking him into his arms. 

Silver reaches up and tangles the fingers of one hand in Flint’s hair, the blue of his eyes so crystal and pure it's almost hard for Flint to look at him. “These past years have been some of the best of my life. I mean it. When I was young and pining for you, I never could've imagined things would end up this way, but I'm so grateful that they have. I love you, truly, and you know I don't say that lightly. The depth of my feelings for you used to frighten me, but it doesn't anymore. I want to drown in that depth, get pulled under by the sheer force of what I feel for you, all that I foolishly left unsaid for so long. I don't want you to ever doubt the-- ferocity of my love for you. You were my first real love, and you're my last, too.” He exhales shakily and looks away, then back at Flint. “Stop me if I'm getting maudlin, please, I did get into the wine at supper,” he jokes, sounding overwhelmed by everything he's just said.

“Come here,” is all Flint can say, feeling as overwhelmed as Silver sounds. He kisses him fiercely, his mind racing with thoughts about how very lucky he is to have the passionate love of such an intense and beautiful person. How lucky they both are, to have endured so much and then against all odds to have ended up here together, enjoying a sweet, quiet life that their former selves only could have dreamed of. “I love you, too. I have for such a long time, and finally being able to tell you, whenever I want to...it's euphoria. There were times I thought I could never be this happy ever again, and now when I open my eyes in the morning and I see you, I wonder what on earth a man like me has done to deserve such bliss,” Flint says shakily when he pulls back.

“We’ve become positively saccharine in our advanced age,” Silver jokes, and they both laugh, the tension of the emotionally charged moment easing. “I think if I told everyone around here who we used to be, what we once were, they wouldn't even believe me now to look at us.”

“We’re just harmless old men, now,” Flint agrees with a little grin.

“Not _that_ old,” Silver purrs, and backs Flint up against the wall, his clever hands suddenly everywhere and his teeth at Flint’s throat.

“Too right,” Flint agrees, tipping his head back against the wall with a quiet thump, feeling younger than ever.


End file.
